TLC IV
by pandora1017
Summary: Ramifications of the TLC IV match....
1. Edge and Christian

Title: "TLC IV"  
Author: pandora1017  
Rating: PG  
Content: A little slash  
Notes: I'm breaking my hiatus for a timed piece - for the TLC IV match. This is kinda a commentary piece... so take that as what you will. It kinda throws in a lot of my thoughts on how the WWE's been handling E&C's storylines since the infamous KOTR and some thoughts on why the participants of TLC IV should _and_ shouldn't have been who they were. There's a Hardys chapter somewhere in the back of my mind - and maybe even a Dudleys chapter - but we'll see if school work allows. Oh, and this doesn't fit in the story anywhere, so I'm going to state this opinion right here: Kane should not have won that match. That totally lowered the credibility of the three original TLC participants and showed them to be incapable without the help of their respective 'brothers.' Sorry about the tangent, I'm done now. No, no, wait. This is just like how Jericho and Benoit winning TLC III demeaned the three teams who busted their asses in the original table matches, ladder matches, and TLC matches. Grr. Ok, now I'm done. 

.

"You did your best, Christian. It was my fault. We should have won it," Chris Jericho consoled his friend as they hobbled from the gorilla area to the locker room. Chris was feeling one of his more rare emotions - guilt. He knew how much this match meant to Christian. Christian just heaved a painful sigh.

"It's not your fault. There's not much you can do when you're being chokeslammed off a ladder. Where the hell did Kane come from anyway?" Christian griped. He sighed again. "Sorry I was late when Spike knocked over your ladder."

"Hey, you threw him through that table for me, good enough," Chris joked, trying to elicit a smile from Christian. It was unsuccessful. "How's your back?"

Christian grimaced, still holding his back where Jeff had thrown him from the turnbuckle onto a ladder. "That painted freak had better watch out next time he gets in the ring with me..."

"Painted freak?" A familiar voice interrupted, causing both Christian and Jericho to freeze. "Now that's not a nice name for your ex-boyfriend."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Jericho narrowed his eyes as he turned to the tall blonde man who was leaning against the wall and hiding behind dark sunglasses. Christian just watched his brother wide-eyed, startled by his very presence. Edge ignored Chris and met his brother's blank glance with a smirk.

"What the hell are you wearing, Chris?" Edge mocked. Christian's face went as red as his new tights and he refused to answer.

"Why are you here, Edge?" Jericho demanded again.

"I came to see my little brother in his first TLC match without me. I guess we found out who really carried the team now."

Christian moved to strike his brother, but Jericho stepped between Edge and Christian. Edge didn't flinch. "Why don't you go back with your SmackDown friends and get the hell out of here? You're not welcome here, Junior."

"What are you going to do," Edge started, finally acknowledging Jericho, "sic Jamal and Rosie on me?"

"What makes you think we need them to take you?" Christian growled under his breath.

"Aw," Edge cooed, "It's so cute that my little brother still seems to think that he can take on me."

Once again, Jericho restrained Christian.

"What do you want?" Jericho demanded again. Christian was just fuming behind Jericho.

"I want to talk to my brother. Is that too much to ask?"

"I don't want to talk to you," Christian snapped. "Get the hell away from me."

Instead of leaving, Edge pushed off the wall and took a step towards Christian. Chris took a step back, trying to stay between Edge and Christian, but Christian stood his ground and Jericho ran into him. Edge looked straight past Jericho to Christian, the smirk finally dropping from his face. "I said, I want to talk to you."

"You snap your fingers, I jump. Is that right?"

"Don't give me this bullshit, Christian, you know what this is about," Edge growled. Jericho looked between the brothers, confused. Any lingering pain from the match was washed from Christian's face and he matched his brother's death glare.

"Christian...?"

"I'll catch up with you later, Chris," Christian answered, not taking his eyes off Edge.

"You sure?" Jericho asked, still watching Edge and Christian's stare down.

"Yeah, go."

Jericho stepped from between them, practically hearing Mills Lane call, 'Let's get it on!' as he gave the brothers full access to each other. He walked away slowly, but didn't hear anything, as Christian and Edge seemed to be waiting for him to leave before starting to brawl. There were a few more tense moments of silence before Edge spoke again.

"I didn't think you'd do it."

Christian didn't miss a beat. "You did it first. I didn't think _you_ would have done it."

"There's a difference between tagging and doing a TLC match."

"There's a difference between tagging and being the tag team champion."

"Is that what this is about?"

"Is that what what's about? You're the one who came here. Aren't you supposed to be in Louisiana?"

"Arizona. Louisiana was last week. Nice to see you're still paying attention."

"Fuck off, Edge. Why did you come here?"

"I heard you were going to have a TLC match. I wanted to see if you'd go through with it. I thought we agreed not to do those anymore."

"No, we agreed that we were going to be singles wrestlers. Then you had to go and take the Intercontinental belt from me, and -"

"You took it from me first!"

"- and then you went and tagged with Hogan and -"

"You can't hold that against me."

Christian stopped an narrowed his eyes. "Watch me."

"Hogan was my childhood hero. _Our_ childhood hero! Would you have passed up a chance to tag with Hogan?"

"Yes, if it meant going back to tagging. The whole reason we started this fight was that stupid King of the Ring tournament. We wanted to be singles wrestlers. Besides, it's freaking Hulk Hogan. He's only about a hundred years old. What a waste."

Edge sighed, and took off his glasses. Christian finally saw how tired Edge looked. This was obviously bothering Edge much more than he originally let on. Edge ran a hand through his hair. "We were the biggest Hulkamaniacs in town. Are you trying to tell me you're not a Hulk Hogan fan anymore?"

"Pretty much."

"Since when?"

"Since I got the Big Boot."

Edge rolled his eyes. "Aw, Chris, that's so -"

"From you." Edge looked up to Christian quickly, being greeted with the same angry glare. "One good thing about Lance - he'll never beat his brother with a lame-ass gimmick move, then celebrate by waving the American flag on the Fourth of July."

Edge looked back to the ground solemnly. "This isn't about titles, is it?"

"Of course it's about titles," Christian snapped. "You're always trying to be better than me! Wasn't it enough that you have three more Intercontinental title reigns than me? Did you have to have more tag title reigns, too?"

"I didn't do it for -"

"So you were now the eight time tag champ. And I had to go and find myself a new tag partner so I could at least keep up. And look where that leaves me now. With those Un-American chumpstains."

"Christian -"

"And Lance had to go and let that obnoxious Regal in, and -"

"Chris, you live in Tampa."

Christian crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "At least Lance knows more than five wrestling moves."

Edge took a deep breath to push down his rising anger. "Look, Christian, it was a fluke. I just happened to tag with Hogan and win the titles. You won them from us. Doesn't that mean anything?"

Christian looked away from Edge to the ground. Edge continued. "Tagging isn't anything special. Everyone tags from time to time. You didn't honestly expect to never tag with anyone again, did you?"

"I didn't expect to win the titles again," Christian mumbled. Edge ignored him and continued.

"But TLC matches... those were ours. We had mastered those. We beat those Hardys and Dudleys more than they ever beat us in any table or ladder matches - combined. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Christian snapped his eyes back up to Edge. " 'Us' doesn't mean anything to me anymore, if that's what you're asking."

Edge stopped and blinked at Christian. "What?"

"There is no 'us' anymore. Never was. Just like I always said, it was always _Edge_ and his sidekick Christian. I was nothing. This was my chance to finally prove that _I_ did my share in the TLC matches, to prove that I wasn't just riding on your name," Christian sighed and swallowed a lump in his throat. "And I failed."

"What did you expect? You were just going to waltz in there with Jericho and have the kind of chemistry we had?"

"He won a TLC match once, too," Christian practically whispered, returning his glance to the floor.

"That's bullshit, Christian. What were you thinking?"

"Hey," Christian argued, looking back to Edge. "I was forced into that match, my job was on the line!"

"That's not what I mean. I mean _what were you thinking?_ How many times did you stop and look for me in that match?"

Christian stopped, slackjawed. He just watched Edge silently, but Edge pressed the issue. "How many times? How many times did you look for me for a tandem move? How many times did you know what we would have done, but Jericho wasn't with you? How many times did you really realize that even if you grabbed that belt from the top of that ladder, it just wouldn't be right because you wouldn't be bringing that other belt to me?"

Christian took a step back from Edge and wiped his tearing eyes with the back of his hand. He managed to choke out: "Once."

Edge's face softened. "Once?"

"Yeah, once," Christian whispered. " 'Cause I never forgot it."

Edge silently looked over his brother. He had come here with the intention of making him regret that match, but now that it was done, he wish he hadn't. He knew that Christian still loved him, he knew that Christian regretted that infamous chairshot. Compelled from something he almost forgot he had, Edge reached out and set his hand on the side of Christian's face, trying to console him. Christian jerked away from him. "Fuck off, Edge. Get the fuck out of here."

Edge dropped his hand and walked off, putting his sunglasses back on. He didn't look back, so he missed Christian slumping to the ground, in tears. Broken. 


	2. Matt and Jeff

A/N: Uh, some people might not like how I portray Jeff, so... sorry. In my humble opinion, I think Matt is the better wrestler and I'm going to address how people are noticing that Jeff looks run down. I personally think Jeff's great, and a lot of fun to watch, but his lack of a push is most likely boring him. That's just my guess. But I'm going to attribute the being run down to something else here. So there! :-P

----------

Jeff sat silently on his couch, his fingers laced through his hair, and waited for the asprin to kick in. The soreness was subsiding - it had been a few days since the fourth TLC match - but it did take a while to heal from being thrown from the ring through a table. Jeff had watched the footage later and seen the table shatter - like it was glass. He considered himself pretty lucky he didn't get stabbed with a plywood shard. Of course, it wasn't in his nature to worry about the outcomes before the match. He just watched the footage afterwards and thanked God after every ugly bump. He sighed, then winced - again. This was going to be a long day. Jeff turned sideways and layed face down on the couch, watching the blank TV that he had just turned off. He considered what to do to allieviate boredom next, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. With a grunt, he pushed himself off the couch and hobbled over to the front door.

"Jus' a second," He swung the door open and saw the last person he expected to see standing on his front porch. His mouth opened and closed a few times as if he was going to say something, but no noise came out. Matt watched him silently with tired eyes, as if he'd been stressed lately. Or maybe just too long on the road. Jeff took in the sight of his brother - he hadn't seen Matt in person since the night he cost him the IC title shot against RVD. Matt was still just watching him, looking almost sad, and resting his hands in his jean pockets. Finally, Jeff spoke. "Matt?"

"Can Ah come in?" Matt asked, raising his eyebrows with lazy expectance. Jeff stepped out of the way more quickly than he'd moved all week, and Matt came in the house, kicking his shoes off at the door.

"What's goin' on, man?" Jeff asked. The surprise still evident in his voice, but he was being more social than Matt had expected. Jeff followed Matt into the living room, where Matt sat down on one of the edge of one of the couches, almost nervously.

"Ah saw y'match on Monday," Matt announced clearly. Jeff sat down on the couch across from Matt and looked at his hands nervously. He figured Matt wouldn't be too happy about his fighting in a TLC match with someone else, but what was he supposed to do? Bischoff had threatened his job...

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Matt started again, quieter. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, then began his speech. "Look, Jeff, Ah'm sorry Ah interferred in y'match with RVD. It wasn't my place, an' Ah've rethought -"

"Don't worry about it, Matt," Jeff cut him off. "Ah understand why y'did it. Because of Bischoff. Ah didn't ask f'that match, you did."

Matt knitted his brow in confusion. "But y'coulda had a shot at th'IC title. Ah screwed ya out of it."

Jeff smiled genially. "Y'know how guilty Ah woulda felt if Ah won th'IC title with your title shot?"

Matt considered that for a second. "Wow, Jeff, Ah thought ya'd be pissed as hell at me."

"Nah, Ah forgave ya a long time ago. Ah might have done th'same in y'place."

Jeff flashed a smile at Matt, and Matt smiled back. "No y'wouldn't have. That's not like ya."

"Y'never know anymore," Jeff smirked. "Ah'm EXTREME!"

Matt laughed. "Well, Ah'm still sorry. It woulda been nice f'ya t'have another IC title reign on y'list. Y'coulda had one f'each of us, before that moron Bischoff gets rid of it completely."

Jeff chuckled quietly with Matt, then Matt sighed again. "An' Ah'm sorry Ah left ya. Ah shoulda had this conversation with ya before Ah signed with Stephanie."

"Of course, if ya woulda stayed on Raw, y'wouldn't have a winning record over 'Taker."

Matt looked back up to Jeff, a smile playing on his lips. "Never woulda expected that one, huh?"

"Man, you're kickin' ass an' takin' names over there."

"Yeah, SmackDown's been pretty good f'me," Matt sighed, and finally relaxed back into the couch. "Except one thing."

Jeff bit his bottom lip and waited for his brother to continue. He had a feeling that he knew what the one thing was.

"They want _you_, Jeff," Matt admitted, and took a shaky breath. "It's hard. Everytime Ah go out to th'ring, all Ah hear is 'We want Jeff.' Ah bust my ass, Ah try t'have good matches with th'Undertaker, Ah try t'explain myself t'my fans, but.... well, Ah jus' don't know if Ah have fans anymore."

Jeff jumped up and crossed the room to sit next to Matt. Matt tried to subtlely wipe his eyes before Jeff noticed, but Jeff noticed. Jeff took a deep breath then answered, "Ah'm y'fan, Matt."

There was a long moment of silence where Matt examined his hands. Jeff waited for some kind of response, or even for Matt to look at him. Finally, Matt took a deep breath and repeated into his hands, "Ah saw that TLC match."

Jeff nodded his head, also looking away from Matt. Matt took his time in continuing, but finally he said, "Y'looked good out there."

Jeff started examining his hands now, as Matt finally looked up at him. "You an' RVD almost had that thing won a couple times. If y'woulda hit that swanton on Bubba, Ah bet y'coulda won it."

Jeff smiled softly. "That always was th'problem, wasn't it? Ah was always jus' too focused on gettin' Bubba through a table. He got me this time."

Matt smiled, then looked up to his brother. Jeff noticed that his eyes looked glossy, like he was going to cry. But before he could speak, Matt stood up abruptly. "Look, Jeff, Ah jus' came t'aplogize. Ah'd better get goin'."

"Don't leave, Matt," Jeff called as Matt crossed the room. Matt hesitated, and Jeff pleaded his case further. "Ah haven't seen ya f'almost two months. Ah miss talkin' to ya. Ah miss _you_."

Matt turned slowly back to Jeff. "How're ya doin', Jeff?"

Jeff stopped. "What?"

"How are ya?"

"Well, Ah..."

"Ah've heard some stories."

"Stories?"

"They say you're showin' up t'shows late again."

Jeff sat back down on the couch and examined the floor. "Who says?"

"They say you're not actin' like y'self, that y'head's not in the game," Matt continued. Jeff fell silent again - Matt was right. Jeff just didn't want him to know it. Matt crossed the room and stood in front of Jeff. "Are you doin' all right, Jeff?"

"Matt..." Jeff swallowed to wet his throat, then sighed. "Ah don't know. It's not the same."

"What's not the same?"

"Ah mean, wrestling singles with you on th'same show is one thing... but now Ah never even see ya anymore."

"Jeff, y'don't need me -"

"Yeah, Ah do."

"What?"

"Y'were th'one who always got me there on time," Jeff chuckled, and Matt smiled softly and sat next to him.

"Y'got Lita now, she can keep ya punctual," Matt ribbed. Jeff smiled and folded his hands in his lap.

"It's not jus' that."

"What's wrong, man?" Matt pressed. Jeff sighed again, leaning back into the couch. "Jeff, y'ok?"

"Oh, come on, Matt, y'always knew y'were my inspiration. We did this together, y'were always there for me whenever things got hard. Things might be easier now, but... Ah still need ya."

"Aw, Jeff, y'don't need me. Everyone always said Ah was holdin' ya back. Now it's y'time t'shine. So go shine."

"They were all wrong, Matt. Y'never coulda held me back - y'were pushin' me forward. Ahead of you, at times. Here's th'proof. Look at what we've been doin' since y'left."

"You've had more title shots than Ah can remember, an' -"

"Ah had a feud with th'Undertaker, too. He squashed me. You're beatin' th'holy hell outta him."

Matt shrugged, finally admitting, "With Brock's help."

Jeff looked up to Matt, surprised that he actually admitted that. Matt frowned, and Jeff took a deep breath before addressing Matt. "Ah don't trust him."

"Brock?"

"Yeah. Or Heyman."

"Don't worry about it," Matt smiled softly. "Ah have everythin' under control."

"Matt, are ya sure -"

"Yeah, it's fine," Matt cut him off. Jeff fell silent and looked back to his hands. After a moment, Matt spoke again, somewhat far away. "Ah'd trade it..."

Jeff waited expectantly for him to finish that sentence, but he didn't. "Trade what?"

"Ah woulda traded my winnin' record over 'Taker t'have been in that TLC match with ya."

Jeff looked over to Matt, startled, and caught Matt wiping his eye again. "Don't say that."

"Ah never shoulda left," Matt whispered as he tried to regain his composure, then he turned to Jeff suddenly. "Nex' time we get a chance, Ah'll sign back over t'Raw. As much as Ah despise Bischoff, Ah don't ever want t'have t'watch ya in a TLC match from so far away again."

"No, Matt -"

"No, Ah never shoulda left. Ah -"

"Matt, stop," Jeff commanded, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Ah was holdin' you back. Look where y'are without me. Don't come back f'me. Ah'll be all right."

"Y'weren't holdin' me back, Jeff. Neither of us were holdin' each other back. We jus' mastered th'tag division, an' we need some time t'adjust t'singles wrestlin'. But Ah don't want t'do it so far away from ya," Matt looked up at Jeff slowly, for some kind of response. Jeff just sighed. "Y'should come t'SmackDown, Jeff! Bischoff treats ya like shit. Steph's a li'l moody, but..."

"There's nothin' we can do about it now, Matt. Th'rosters are frozen. All we have t'do is make th'best of what we can," Jeff interrupted calmly. Matt sighed this time. "Jus' don't be a stranger on our days off."

Matt looked up to Jeff suddenly, then smiled.


	3. BuhBuh Ray, DVon, and Spike

A/N: Well, I thought I was done with this one, but my wonderful - if not sometimes a little *too* helpful - archivist noted that it was unfinished. What? What? Shameless plug? The archive is _Shadows Play_ at badthingbaby.net, by the lovely and talented Amanda. Make sure to check out her own far superior work at _Disclaiming Reality_. "But... I'm over here now!" [Thank you, elusive Hurricane muse...] So, you can all thank - or flame - Amanda for the final chapter of this piece. Oh, and I did mention that I have no Dudley musi, right? *notices Trish muse, Lance muse, and Y2J muse putting on camoflage and taped up glasses* ...This is going to be a long night. Oh, and writing this a couple months after the fact leaves me room for what would have been spoilers then.

-

D-Von Dudley looked anxiously at the little sheet of paper in his hand, checking it once more before going back to watching the numbers on the hospital room doors as he walked down the hall. After a few more doors, he stopped in front of number 261. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his hand to the door knob - but was overcome with nerves and let it drop again, sighing. He double checked the hastily scrawled numbers on the sheet of paper in his hand before crumpling it up and stuffing it in his pocket. As he lifted his hand again, the door opened before him.

"D-Von?"

"Hey, Spike," he nodded, his raspy voice just above a whisper. "I got your message."

"I..." Spike trailed off, a surprised look on his face and a dollar bill in his hand. "I didn't expect to see you so soon. I was just going to get some coffee. BuhBuh's inside."

"Is he awake?"

Spike frowned and looked at his shoes, kicking the ground absently. "No."

"Oh," D-Von responded shortly.

"But he's been sleeping for hours," Spike added quickly. "He should be up any time now."

"Ok," he nodded again. "Go get some coffee. I'll be in there."

"Ok," Spike agreed, then hesitated slightly. "BuhBuh'll be happy to see you."

"I know," D-Von acknowledge half-heartedly, turning from Spike to the room as Spike left. D-Von involuntarily winced at the sight of his halfbrother laid up in a hospital bed, connected to obnoxious beeping machines. D-Von came closer to the bed, examining everything, then looked down to BuhBuh's closed eyes. "Man, if you could see yourself now... you'd be pissed as all hell."

D-Von smiled in spite of himself. "I sure don't want to be around when you realize you've been in a hospital all day."

D-Von waited, as if he almost expected BuhBuh to respond, and his smile fell when he didn't. Taking a deep breath, D-Von settled into a chair that Spike must have pulled to the side of the bed. Poor Spike had been at BuhBuh's side all night, from when the match ended until he just went for coffee, most likely. D-Von sighed. "Man, I never expected to see the day when there would be a TLC match without me."

D-Von fell silent again, listening to the monitors beep. "How the hell can that Bischoff justify having a TLC match without me? I wasn't there for you and now... this. Calls in the middle of the night telling my concussed brother can't even remember fighting in that match. I heard Edge drove up here as soon as he heard there was going to be a match. I watched the match on TV - with Matt Hardy of all people. I thought he was going to break down crying everytime Jeff took a bump. And you... next time I get a chance, Christian and Jericho are going to pay for this. Jericho especially, for the bump. I always knew that Christian was a bad seed, but Jericho blindsided us."

D-Von lapsed into silence again, frowning. He wasn't used to BuhBuh staying silent - he loved to insult Christian. D-Von leaned forward in his seat. "Look, BuhBuh, I know you're going to be fine, and I'm not worried at all, but if you'd just say something - anything - to let me know you're still with me here. You've had worse. You just hit your head a little."

D-Von waited, then leaned back in his seat again. "But all those other times - I was there with you for the bumps. What the hell is little Spike going to do for you? Sure, he's got the Dudley fight in him, but he can't... well, he can't keep up."

There was a door click that startled D-Von and he looked up quickly to see Spike standing in front of the door with two paper cups of coffee. He looked absolutely crushed. "Oh, Spike, I..."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for BuhBuh like you used to be," he muttered, looking to the ground.

"I didn't mean it, Spike, I'm just talking... I'm nervous."

"But you've said it before - over and over again. I just thought you were playing around then."

"Maybe at some point in time I did believe it, but you've proven yourself since then," D-Von sighed and gestured for Spike to pull up a chair next to him. "BuhBuh probably would have taken this bump if I'd been in the ring, too."

"No, he wouldn't have," Spike sighed, pulling up a chair next to D-Von and handing him a glass. "You would have been there for him."

"It was an accident," D-Von tried to reassure him again. "I couldn't have prevented it either."

"I don't know why you two morons are so worried about which of your's fault this is," a third voice interrupted, startling both Spike and D-Von.

"BuhBuh?" Spike asked, hesitantly.

"It sure as hell wasn't Spike knocking me out. If you want to be useful, go get a tape of that match so we can see who it was and get some revenge."

"Oh, my brother," D-Von got to his feet with a smile.

"And you," BuhBuh continued, turning to D-Von with an angry voice and sitting up slowly. "This isn't my goddamned funeral - so quit giving my eulogy. And lay off Spike - you weren't in that match, so you don't know what he was doing. And I don't remember the match, so for all we know, Spike could have been carrying the damn thing, and -"

"BuhBuh!" Spike repeated, getting to his feet with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"How am I feeling?" he asked dryly. "I don't know, I just was in a TLC match that I was unconscious during. I don't even know what hurts yet!"

D-Von and Spike exchanged grins. BuhBuh's yelling was always a good sign, even though he was currently glaring angrily at his brothers. "Now, D-Von, you said you saw that match - obviously you see -"

"You heard me?" D-Von asked suddenly, stopping BuhBuh. BuhBuh shrugged. "Yeah, so -"

"And you pretended not to?"

"Yeah, well..." BuhBuh hesitated slightly, then started again. "So obviously you see how pathetic the tag division on Raw is. If you could get over to Raw somehow, we -"

"Oh, my brother," D-Von laughed, sitting back down in his chair, and whispered, "Testify." 


End file.
